


Warmer

by jedusaur



Category: Bandom
Genre: Basement, Chains, Crack, Imprisonment, M/M, basement!gerard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2011-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:49:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedusaur/pseuds/jedusaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabe locks Gerard in his basement. Gerard doesn't mind--basements are his natural habitat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmer

When Gerard descends into the basement, he doesn't intend to stay there for a week. He intends to hide from the explosive party going on in the rest of the house for about twenty minutes, then go back upstairs and drag Mikey off the dance floor and into the car. He just wants to be somewhere quiet for a while.

It turns out to be a really great basement, though, and Gerard is soon distracted from his moping. It's such a perfect place to mope that he doesn't want to waste it on stupid moping topics like being stuck at a party he didn't want to attend. A place like this demands a higher class of moping, and Gerard is just the moper for the job.

The only source of light is a single dangling lightbulb. There are a few scraps of tattered carpeting on the floor, just enough to draw attention to the bleak expanse of cement, and there's a sagging threadbare velvet couch in the corner, elegantly neglected. Elegance and neglect are two of Gerard's favorite things, so of course he loves the couch. He curls up on it, absently rubbing the fabric as he stares gloomily off into the distance. The distance is the opposite corner of the room, where cobwebs give way to darkness.

 _Cobwebs._ This is _awesome_.

He gets in a good half hour of general angst before he even feels the urge to investigate the rest of the basement. When he does tear himself away from his nest of springs and torn velvet to poke his nose into the darkness, he finds a box of office supplies, including pencils and pads of notepaper. He immediately drops to the floor and braces a pad on his knee, scribbling and mumbling, "Nest of springs... and torn... velvet. Ripped? No, torn, yeah..."

Then he looks up and sees the manacles fastened to the wall underneath the stairs.

Gabe finds him in the morning with one hand locked in a metal cuff and the other making patterns on the floor with the length of chain. "Oh, good," says Gerard when he sees him. "Get my other wrist in this, I can't do it with one hand."

Gabe complies, grinning. "I was gonna force you into these and take advantage of you, but man, can't force the willing, huh? Suppose I could still take advantage--"

Gerard shakes his head. "Not now. I'm in the middle of something."

Gabe spots the pad on the floor and picks it up. "Dude, are you writing a song?" He squints at the words. "Are you writing a song about my basement?"

"I need bacon," Gerard tells him seriously. "Raw. Bloody if possible. Can you get that for me?"

"Immediately," Gabe assures him and takes the stairs three at a time.

Gerard accidentally falls asleep in the manacles while he's waiting for Gabe to get back. He has a fantastic fucked-up dream about his cells being made of ladybugs with jigsaw-puzzle wings. He has microscopic vision in the dream, and he can zoom in on his skin and look at his ladybug molecules. Then the wings start falling off and the ladybugs start falling apart, and he zooms back out to find his entire body disintegrating into a trillion tiny deformed insects.

He's woken up by the sound of Gabe clattering down the steps. "Got your bacon, dude," he says, brandishing a package.

Gerard has forgotten what he wanted it for. "I gotta write this ladybug shit down," he says, tugging at a chain. "Let me out."

"I don't think I want to," says Gabe.

"Okay, you write it down for me then." Gerard waits for him to pick up the pencil and paper before rattling off everything he can remember about the dream. When he's covered every detail, he starts rambling about what it might mean and how he can relate it to the abyss in his heart. Eventually, he winds down and trails off, looking at Gabe. "You're not wearing any pants."

"I am not!" Gabe agrees gleefully.

"Why do we say pants, plural?" wonders Gerard aloud. "I mean, when you're talking about one half of a pair of pants, you say 'pant leg,' not 'pant.' What is a pant?"

"That's deep shit, dude," says Gabe. "Hey, your hands are looking kinda blue. Don't want anything falling off." He unlocks Gerard's wrists.

Gerard rubs them together and takes back the pad. It says: _I was made of ladybugs, right, and their wings were penis penis penis penis ABYSS IN MY PENIS penis penis penis what is a pant?_

***

It takes Gerard two hours to reconstruct his monologue to his satisfaction. He doesn't notice that Gabe has left until he comes back.

"Hey," says Gerard. "I gotta pee, can I use your bathroom?"

"Nope," says Gabe.

Gerard actually meant the question rhetorically. He raises his eyebrows.

"There's a bucket over there in the corner," says Gabe.

That's weird, but Gerard is kind of in the middle of a thought and he's about to wet himself, so the bucket actually works out pretty well for him. He hurries back to the couch and dives back into his lyrics.

"So I was thinking I'd chain you up again and fuck your mouth," says Gabe.

"Gimme, like, two minutes," mumbles Gerard. "Almost to a breaking point."

"Sure, sure." Gabe sits down next to him and waits patiently.

It's ten minutes before Gerard looks back up. "Um," he says. He thinks Gabe wanted something, but he wasn't actually paying attention. Fortunately, Gabe seems to have things under control. He hops up and leads Gerard back to the manacles, locking him in, then pulls out his cock and rams it down Gerard's throat.

"Ohn," says Gerard. "Ohngkay."

"I love this," says Gabe, tangling his fingers in Gerard's hair. "I love having someone down here, always ready for me whenever I need to chain something up and fuck it."

Gerard appears to have missed something.

"Sing for me," growls Gabe.

Gerard hums 'Row, Row, Row, Your Boat.' Gabe comes in his mouth.

"Life is but a dream," gasps Gerard as soon as he has his tongue back. "Scarily, warily, life is but a nightmare, but a wet dream, _give me my pencil_ , I no longer trust your dictational qualifications."

Gabe tucks his cock back in his boxers and opens up the cuffs.

***

"So you're, like, writing a concept album about being locked in my basement?"

Gerard huffs. "It is not a _concept album._ And it's not about the basement. It's a deeper glimpse of this shallow, like, moment in space. The basement is just the inspiration, you know, the bigger context for the narrative behind the _meaning_ of the album."

Gabe laughs. "Did that make sense in your head, dude? 'Cause it doesn't out of it."

"Wait," says Gerard, "did you say 'locked'?"

***

Gerard flops and moans over his captivity for a while, because Gabe seems to enjoy it, and because it seems like a worthy object of his mopely affections. He gets at least one good verse and a cover art idea out of it, using the notepad's blue lines as prison bars because Gabe doesn't have any halfway decent paper to draw on. The metaphor of a gilded cage works nicely with the notepaper as a social-industrial commentary, too.

Then he reaches for another cigarette and discovers that he's out. Gabe seemed proud of himself for the whole imprisonment thing, so Gerard waits until the house above him is quiet before climbing on the washing machine, wiggling out of the window near the ceiling, and trotting down the street to a 7/11 for more smokes.

Gabe, who apparently was not in fact asleep, is pouting on the velvet couch when he gets back. Gerard takes a moment to appreciate the melancholy of the scene--Gabe clearly does not take his magnificent moping grounds for granted--before crawling back in. "Sorry," he says.

"You weren't supposed to be able to get out," complains Gabe.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, you can lock the window from the outside," Gerard sooths. "Look, c'mon, chain me up and have your wicked way with me. I'll condemn your perversion in the liner notes, okay?"

Gabe brightens. "Really?"

***

The bacon starts to stink after a few days. It's a beautiful reflection of Gerard's shriveled, rotting soul.


End file.
